Fleeting
by dancewithdragons
Summary: '"Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone.' Sansa escapes with Sandor on the night of the Blackwater, and nothing will ever be the same. AU. (Rated M)


Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she cold feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.

When she crawled out of the bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire. The sky outside was darker then, with only a few pale green ghosts dancing against the stars. A chill was blowing, banging the shutters. Sansa was cold. She shook out the torn cloak and huddled beneath it on the floor, shivering.

There were tears on her cheeks, the tears of a stranger. She reached her hand up and touched her face, fingers sliding in the wetness of them. _I must go with him_, she thought as she gathered herself up. She pulled the case from a pillow and dumped in it precious jewels and some thin gowns. She pulled her gown from her body and changed into a thick rough-spun dress of black. Lifting the hood she took only a moment to look into the mirror to make sure her hair was hidden. _This is madness_, she realized. There was no other way, Sansa knew. He promised her to go North, where her family was. How sweet it would be to feel the summer snow kiss her cheeks and hear the howl of wolves once more.

Sansa tossed around her bedding and pushed the table over in hopes that they would think she was kidnapped before running out the door. She went as fast as she could, tripping and rolling down a few stairs before stumbling into an armored pair of legs. She dared not look up for a moment, fearing them to be the legs of a gold cloak or a member of the guard. When a rough hand grabbed her arm and yanked her up, she prayed for mercy, but then a gentle finger lifted her chin to look up at the knight's face. Indeed, he was no knight.

Sandor Clegane stared at her, stone-like eyes flashing with curiosity. "Be a good little bird and fly up to your gilded cage," he said, shoving her away.

She inched closer to him. "They'll kill me if I stay," she said, not knowing if she meant Stannis's troops or that of her betrothed's.

"They'll kill us both if we're caught."

Sansa flung the bag of jewels and gowns onto her shoulder. "Then let's hurry and not get caught." Her boldness caught him off guard, and slowly he took her hand and resumed his hurried descent down the staircase. It was all wild and rash, she knew, all senseless and crazy. But this was her chance, her only chance, to go home.

"If you don't keep up I'll leave you," Sandor said roughly over his shoulder as they rounded a corner and slid into the shadows of the hall. Candlight flickered on the sconces across the way, glimmering and attracting as a dancer might. She could hear the distant knock of steel on steel, the screams of men and women alike as the city was sacked by its own people in the night.

A soldier turned the corner and Sandor pushed her behind him, but it was too late and he'd seen them together. "Stay," she was commanded as he went to the man. The sword cut through him like he was soft butter. Shocked, Sansa began to cry, but the Hound came to her in an instant and pressed a heavy hand to her mouth. "Not a peep," he said, "you keep quiet or I go alone."

She nodded, tears falling down her cheeks. Their pace quickened.

The sky above was filled with smoke and snare, jaded. The clouds were a sickly, vomit-like green and they dripped like they were crying. Men and women ran around them in crowds. Half of the stables had been ransacked, but Sansa could see the handsome black courser. There were bodies around him, those that he'd kicked to death. The smell of them made Sansa's stomach flip. Sandor saddled the horse quickly, his deft fingers tying everything into place before they were noticed. He mounted and steadied himself before holding a hand out for her. "That's improper," Sansa said incredulously, "we can't ride together, I'm a lady."

Sandor scoffed and yanked her atop the steed anyways, holding his arms around her to get to the reins. She worked to protest, but he only gripped her tighter. The saddle rubbed at her thighs uncomfortably and his grip on her was deadly as they rode off. There were smallfolk grasping at them as they sped through the city, but Sandor kicked them off with ease. One guard called for him to stop, and when he recognized the man to be Sandor, he was ran down quicker than Sansa could make sense of. "Why did you do that?" she cried, her voice lost to the screams of the city.

"Quiet, bird." His grey eyes are fixed on the road before them. They made their way through River Row and the Fish Market, the stars of twilight covered by the ill-green skylight. She felt rigid and cold as the wind slapped her skin, and she leaned back into Sandor's mail, wrapping the simple black cloak tighter around her.

There wasn't a soul to be found at the King's Gate. It was half open and creaking with the breeze. _They've all gone to the mud gate_, Sansa realized as they passed under the portcullis. Half the city was fighting and the other half dead, and nobody would notice that she was gone until morning, and by then she would be far, far away. She felt queasy. _Lady,_ she whimpered.

She felt time drip away like tears, and she did not know if they had been riding for an hour or three. When they finally stopped, she had grown so used to the rocking of the saddle that she nearly fell to the cold, hard ground. Sandor's hand grabbed her so hard she was like to bruise, and lightly he set her to her feet. "Won't be much use if you're dead," the Hound said, dismounting. "We've come far enough today."

Sansa looked around. There was nothing but trees and rocks for miles in each direction. "Shouldn't we keep going? If they come looking for us, it won't take long for them to catch up." She wrapped her arms together and shivered in the cold of the night. Digging into her sack, she pulled out the bloodied, torn white cloak, wrapping it generously around her shoulders. "What if they find us?"

"They won't." Sandor left his horse saddled and tied him to a tree branch. Taking in the surrounding around them, he began picking up wood and commanded Sansa pick up leaves and moss.

She did so without question after she'd hesitated and he grumbled about taking her back and reaping the reward for a runaway bird.

Soon, she'd found enough foliage to make a soft little bed each. He'd gotten the fire burning by the time she had settled onto the ground. It was cold and wet and hard, and she couldn't get comfortable. She missed her featherbed and the warmth of the coverlets. The only sort of bedding she had here was the tattered cloak that Sandor had left wadded up on her bedchamber floor. She shivered as the wet of the moss crept through the cloak and soaked her skin.

"Come closer," he ordered her. Sandor was sitting just as distant from the fire as she, his arm open for her. _He means to hold me as though I were his lady love_, Sansa thought with a flush creeping up from her chest. "Here," he commanded once more.

Cautiously, she scooted towards him and sat at his side, his arm wrapping itself around her shoulders. It was as heavy as a battleaxe, and she could smell the blood and sweat on him. He'd killed two men to keep her safe, yet she felt so vulnerable with him.

Wind chased the fire down to a low ember and he held her tighter, her discomfort growing. "I'm warm now," Sansa said meekly, and he didn't put up a fight when she crawled from under his arm and curled up on the little bed of leaves and moss. _I'm as stupid as they say,_ she thought to herself as the realization of what she'd done crept into her mind. _They will catch me and flog me for a traitor. I'll never go home, I'll never see my family again_.

Tears spilled from her eyes. She ran away with the Hound and left her king, her betrothed, for a chance at seeing the northern hills once more. It was wild. It was surreal. She tucked the cloak tightly around her and sobbed. She wanted Lady, she wanted her mother. But what she got was Sandor Clegane hunkering down beside her, quickly slipping into a snore-filled slumber.

After hours of crying, Sansa too found herself drifting, and without a fight she let sleep turn her world dark. _Lady_...


End file.
